Sherlock Holmes: The man and the mystery
by fireflygirl1995
Summary: The second chapter of my fanfiction about John Watson and Amy Lavens
1. 1

"Well, dear, this is it, 221C Baker Street," Mrs. Hudson, a woman of about sixty, showed me into the downstairs apartment, sorry, "flat", or 221 Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson seemed very nice and I was glad I had run into her earlier that day at her shop: Speedy's Café. I had just moved to England, for a break from college, from America. It was my second week in London and I had just decided to go looking at "flats" when Mrs. Hudson suggested the one by her shop.  
"Mind you dear, it's a bit damp, so it comes at a discounted price: £650. I'm assuming you'll be staying for a while, Amy?" I nodded. "Will you need a job? I could use a bit of extra help at the shop."  
I smiled gratefully. "That would be wonderful. Thank you very much Mrs. Hudson. What would you like me to do?"  
"Well, I handle all the baking and such, but you can be the cashier if you'd like. Lily, my other cashier, is on temporary leave for a few months. She's just had a baby, actually," she added in a whisper.  
"Oh, that's nice," I said genuinely.  
"Do you need any help with your luggage? I have a few furnishings in the flat; a bed, couch, those types of things. It could use with some paint and the like, but it will look very nice once you put some homey touches on it."  
I looked around the "flat". There was a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and living room. Mrs. Hudson was quite right: there were sparse furnishings in the apartment: just a bed, sofa, table and chair along with a fridge and stove in the kitchen. All the necessities were in the bathroom though. Even a rug and toilet cover.  
"Does anyone live in 221B?" I asked, curious.  
Mrs. Hudson nodded. "Oh yes. Sherlock Holmes and his friend Dr. Watson."  
"Ah. Is there…anything I should know about either one of them before I move in?" I asked.  
"So you've decided?" Mrs. Hudson asked, clapping her hands together.  
"Only if Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson won't be troublesome." I said, jokingly.  
Mrs. Hudson shook her head, "Oh no. They're no trouble at all. Sherlock does like to play his violin on occasion. And they do have a domestic every once in a while, but doesn't everyone?" She asked, smiling.  
"Yes, I suppose so." I had one last look around the rooms. "I'll take it." I said, shaking Mrs. Hudson's hand.  
"Perfect. I'll make a cuppa' for you and introduce you to the boys, if you'd like."  
"I'd love that." I said, as Mrs. Hudson made her way around the corner to her own flat. "Well now," I said, taking out a notepad and a pen. "What to buy, what to buy." I walked around the rooms making notes on what to buy and where to put things when I heard a soft knock at the door.  
"Hello," I said when I saw a man standing in the doorway. He was very attractive. He had light brown hair, stood erect, and wore a green sweater and jeans. His features were soft and pleasing. "I'm Amy Laver." I walked over to him and stuck out my hand.  
"You're American," He said, smiling as he shook my hand. I nodded. "I'm John Watson."  
"Oh, so you're the Doctor?" I asked.  
"You've heard of me?" He said, still holding onto my hand.  
"Yes," I answered, laughing. "Mrs. Hudson went to make me a "cuppa", and then she was going to introduce me to you and Mr. Holmes."  
"Ah. You're a friend of Mrs. Hudson's?"  
"Well I hope to be, but I just moved in. Well, I literally _just_ told Mrs. Hudson that I'm going to move in here at 221C."  
"That's great!" John said, smiling brightly. "It'll be nice to have some friends close by." He let go of my hand and stuffed his into his pockets. "Not that Sherlock and I aren't friends. In fact, I think I'm his only friend, which sounds sad, but it's quite flattering when you consider how picky he is."  
"John?" A voice sounded from upstairs.  
"And that'll be Sherlock," John said, stepping out into the hall. "I'm downstairs, Sherlock. Come and meet our new neighbor." John came back into the apartment. "You don't mind do you?" He asked nervously.  
"Oh, no. I'd love to meet Mr. Holmes." I said, patting down my hair.  
There came the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and then the figure of a tall man appeared. He had a mop of black hair, blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, and wore a purple dress shirt and slacks. He was a good six inches taller than John, which made him seem even taller.  
"This," John gestured towards me, "Is Amy Laver."  
Sherlock held out his hand for me to shake. "Pleasure meeting you Ms. Laver."  
"Please," I said, shaking his hand, "Call me Amy, Mr. Holmes."  
" Ah, you're American. Call me Sherlock. I hate formalities." He said assertively. I nodded.  
"Do you need any help with your luggage?" John asked, looking from Sherlock to me.  
"I'd love some, but my bags are at my hotel at the moment." I smiled nervously.  
"Well, I can go with you to your hotel and help you with your bags if you'd like," John suggested.  
I nodded, smiling. "That's a great idea."  
Sherlock made a sort of scoff.  
"Mrs. Hudson?" I called out.  
"Yes, Amy?" She called back, emerging from her apartment.  
"I won't be needing that cup of tea. John offered to help me with my luggage, so we're going to the hotel now."  
"Oh, hello John, Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson smiled at them in a motherly way. "Well, all right dear. Just let me know if there's anything I can help you with. You can start tomorrow if you'd like."  
"I'd love that. Thanks again, Mrs. H." I said, adopting the shortened name.  
"Mrs. H." I heard her mutter to herself, "I rather like that."

John and I hailed a cab and made our way back to the hotel I was staying at.  
"So, what brings you to London?" John asked.  
"Well, I was studying to become a historian, and I just got my Doctorate in History, so I decided to come here for a time and relax. You know, explore different parts of the world. I've never been out of America in the thirty years of my life." I subtly slipped in my age, feeling rather sneaky.  
"I bet your family and friends miss you." He looked over at me, "And your boyfriend."  
I laughed heartily. "Oh, John. I don't _have_ a boyfriend. I haven't had one for five years. Rather depressing, actually. There was this one guy who proposed, but he was a bit of a jerk."  
"In that case, you would like to have dinner with me tonight?" He asked quietly as we pulled up to the hotel.  
"I'd love to." I said, smiling to myself.  
"Great." He got out of the taxi and opened the door for me.  
"Thanks." I got out of the cab and we entered the hotel together. "It's on the third floor." I said, punching the button for the elevator. We waited for it quietly and stepped into it at the same time when it arrived.  
"Oh, sorry," John said, allowing me to go first. I blushed. I had only known John for under an hour and already I felt flustered around him. I was always that way with guys, though.  
After a silent ascent in the elevator, we arrived at my hotel room: 305. I opened the door and started to fill my suitcases with clothes. "It may take a while, John. I hadn't planned on getting an apartment so I put away all my things."  
"That's fine," He said as he sat down in a nearby chair, waiting patiently.  
After about half an hour of rushing about my room, trying to find all my clothes and things and making sure that I hadn't lost anything, I was ready to go. I had two suitcases, a duffel bag and a messenger bag with me.  
"I'll take those," John said, and he took the two suitcases and put the duffel bag on one of them.  
"Are you sure?" I asked, putting on the messenger bag.  
"Mhm." He said, rolling the suitcases out into the hallway. He punched the bottom for the "lift", as he called it, and we waited patiently.  
"So where would you like to go for dinner?" He asked, making conversation, as we stepped into the elevator.  
"Any where is fine with me. I haven't been here long enough to know where to good spots are."  
"Do you like Italian?" John asked.  
I nodded. "I love it."  
"Then I know the perfect place.

Two hours later I was standing in front of my new bathroom's mirror. I was nervous. I hadn't been on a date in a long time. I had decided to wear something flattering, but modest: a knee length sky blue dress to match my eyes, along with a black and gold belt around my waist. I wore gold flats, onyx earrings, and a bangle that matched my dress. I had straightened my usual red curly hair and lightly applied my natural minerals makeup.  
Taking a step back, I gazed in the mirror for the third and, hopefully final, time. "Well, this is as good as it gets, really." I heard a knock at my door for the second time that day. "That'll be John," I said to myself. I took a deep breath and walked to the front door. Smoothing out my dress, I opened the door slowly.  
John Watson was standing outside my door with a bouquet of roses. Roses. I had never gotten roses from anyone before, not even from the guy who had proposed to me.  
"Wow, John," I said, taking the vase of roses from him. "Thank you so much." I set the roses on the table in the kitchen. "Really brings color to this place," I said, laughing.  
"You look lovely, Amy," John said, looking at me with a small smile on his face.  
"Thank you." I said, blushing. I put on my long black coat and white hat. "I'm so used to the warm weather of Texas," I said, as we walked out of 221 Baker Street. "I had to go out and buy this coat and hat when I arrived."  
We both laughed. "Well, London's weather can be a bit…dreary at times." John said, hailing a taxi.  
"I like it. When it rains, that is. But I suppose I'll grow tired of it after a while." We got into a cab then and John told the driver where to go.  
"Baracca's on Cherry Tree Walk." He said, and leaned to look over at me. "I've eaten at Baracca's a few times. They have some really great Italian food."  
Butterflies filled my stomach as the taxi driver took us nearer and nearer to our destination. I hoped John didn't expect us to kiss or anything. I never kissed on the first date, maybe the second.  
We arrived at Baracca's fifteen minutes later. John and I had spent the ride over talking about London life. He had a lot of suggestions of places to visit when I had the time.  
Baracca's wasn't a fancy joint, which I was glad of. And I didn't feel overdressed, which was also good. A young waitress led us to a table in the back. There was soft candle-like lighting overhead which set the mood and made me a little nervous at the same time.  
"My name is Jamie and I'll be your waiter tonight," An older gentleman took our drink order then.  
"What do you suggest, John?" I asked, looking at the drinks on the menu. "They don't have peach tea like I'd like."  
"Umm. What about some red wine?" He asked.  
"Oh, I don't drink," I laughed. "Never really have. I'll just have some water," I said to Jamie. He looked over at john expectantly.  
"I'll have some…" He trailed off, looking at the drinks as well, "I'll just have some Coca-Cola."  
"Alright, then. You either of you like an appetizer?" Jamie asked. I looked over at John.  
"Just some breadsticks, Jamie." John said, looking at the menu.  
"Coming right up," Jamie said, leaving us to talk amongst ourselves.  
"What looks good to you, Amy?" John asked.  
My heart beat faster whenever he said my name. He seemed like a really nice guy. "I think I'll have the Shrimp Alfredo. I do love me some shrimp." I said, instantly regretting my Southern words.  
John smiled at me, "I love that your American," he said simply.  
"Really? I figured my accent would get annoying after a while."  
"Not at all," John said, folding his menu up and looking across the table at me with his grey-blue eyes.  
I blushed. "Well, I just love British accents. If I'm to be quite honest with myself, that's one of the main reasons I decided to come to London: to surround myself with Brits."I laughed.  
"Well I'm glad you did."  
I blushed even more, if that was possible, and laughed nervously. "So what are you going to be getting?" I asked to change the topic.  
"I think I'll be boring and get their spaghetti and meatballs." John said, taking a sip of his drink that Jamie just brought.  
"So what made you become a doctor?" I asked, curious.  
"Well, my father was a great doctor, and I really wanted to become one after I saw him save someone's life. After I passed all my tests and got my degree, I joined the Army to become an Army doctor. I spent five years on tour in Afghanistan. When I came back, an old friend of mine introduced me to Sherlock and now we share a flat together. A bit weird how some things end up, huh?"  
I nodded. "So you and Sherlock get along pretty well?"  
"Well, I am always taken aback at how little he seems to care about fellow human beings, but other than that, yeah, we do. Then again, he does play violin at three in the morning and had me up all night once helping me solve a case."  
"A case? He's a detective?" I asked, as Jamie came to our table again with our food. "Thank you, Jamie."  
Jamie nodded and left quietly.  
"Yes, he's 'the only consulting detective in the world', as he puts it. He can be quite arrogant about it sometimes." John said as he started to eat his spaghetti.  
"Yes, by the way he looked at me after he found out I was American kind of leads me to suspect that." I said, picking at my own food.  
"Don't let Sherlock scare you off. I'm sure he'll warm up to you. We're going to be neighbors after all."  
John and I ate our meal within the hour, talking about the colleges we went to, the careers we had, etc. He asked me a lot about what life was like in America and I was ashamed to tell him how mundane it could be.  
"Mundane's good." He said which led me to believe that what he was looking for in a relationship was something simple and easy.  
"You say that now, but if you lived in Texas your whole life, you'd want something new, too." I said, finishing off my Alfredo.  
"Do we feel like dessert tonight?" Jamie asked, coming to our table when John and I were both finished with our food.  
"Umm..." John looked over at me and I nodded, "Sure. We'll have your Zeppoli with some chocolate dipping sauce."  
Jamie nodded and went to deliver our order.  
"It's like Italian doughnuts." John explained when I gave him a quizzical look as Jamie left. "They're really good."  
Ten minutes later, Jamie came back with our desert. They _were_ really good. I felt kind of messy with the dipping sauce, but felt reassured when John got some on his chin.  
"You've got a little," I gestured to my chin, "You've got a little something right there."  
John felt his chin with his napkin and blushed. I laughed a little, and John smiled.  
"Glad to make you laugh, Amy." He said. Again with the butterflies in my stomach. The more I had gotten to know John throughout the day and dinner, the more I liked him. I was starting to rethink my policy on kissing on the first date.  
When the evening came to an end and we were at the door of my apartment, I had decided to kiss John, but only if he made the first move.  
"I had a really nice time, John," I said, lightly touching his arm.  
"I did, too Amy." He said, placing his hand in mine. My heart thumped and pounded against my ribs. I had only known the man for less than a day and I was about to kiss him. I guess that's how things worked in Britain.  
"John!" Sherlock's voice traveled downstairs. So close. Our lips had been less than an inch apart when Sherlock interrupted us.  
"Yes. Sherlock. Just a minute!" John yelled back. He looked down at me and smiled apologetically.  
"It's okay," I kissed his cheek and withdrew my hand from his, "Sherlock needs you. I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks again for tonight, and the flowers." I added, opening the door to my apartment.  
John looked disappointed, but nodded. "See you tomorrow then." He ascended the stairs quickly, most likely to tell of Sherlock for interrupting what was to be our first kiss. I was sort of glad he did. I didn't want John to think that he could take advantage of me and kiss me on our first date just because I was, what might've appeared to be, a naïve American from Texas.  
No, it was better this way. If he really liked me then he'd wait for a second date to kiss me. I entered my apartment full of hope and a feeling of confidence. I had the upper hand. I knew that John liked me because he was the one who went in for the kiss. So I had the power to reject him, if I wanted to. I couldn't get involved with anyone: I was only staying in London for a few months. The problem was, I didn't know if I would be able to reject him or not when the time came.


	2. 2

I was getting ready for bed when I heard shouting from upstairs.  
"Sherlock I can't believe you! I was just about to kiss her!" I could distinguish John's voice.  
"Who?" I heard Sherlock answer passively.  
"Who else do you think, Sherlock? Amy Laven. I was this close," He continued to yell. I could imagine him separating his forefinger from his thumb by less than an inch.  
"Well, some other time then," Sherlock said. And that was the end of that little domestic.

The next morning, I rose bright and early at eight o'clock. That was early for me. I was used to waking up close to noon because I took evening classes at the University. I took a shower, ate breakfast, and dressed in a simple navy dress that fell to my knees and my brown cowboy boots. I checked my reflection in the bathroom mirror before heading out to Speedy's café for my first day of work.  
"Hello Amy," Mrs. Hudson greeted me as I entered the café.  
"Hello Mrs. H. How are you this morning?" I asked, putting on the red apron Mrs. Hudson handed me.  
"Well, my hip's bothering me a bit today, but I can always deal with that." She putted her right hip as she said this. "How was your night in your new flat?" She asked anxiously.  
"Pretty good. I heard Sherlock and John shouting a bit last night, though." I mumbled.  
"Oh? Well I hope nothing's the matter. I hate it when they won't talk to each other." Mrs. Hudson rushed about the café, tidying up tables and the like.  
"Do you have a rush hour around lunch?" I asked.  
"Oh, yes. We get as many as ten at a time, really. It gets quite busy."She went back into the kitchen to start making bread and such.  
"Okay," I said to myself, rubbing my hands together, "Let's get to work," and I went behind the counter, ready to deal with my first customer.  
During the course of the day, I dealt with dozens of customers, helped two elderly women pick out what type of bread was best, and got onto a group of teenage boys for loitering and harassing a young woman.  
It was almost closing when I saw John coming in. He looked tired but determined.  
"Hello Amy," He said quietly as he came up to the counter.  
"Hello John, would you like something to eat?" I asked bashfully.  
"Actually I came here to apologize about last night. I'm afraid you might've heard me yelling at Sherlock," He looked down, embarrassed.  
"Oh, it's okay John. I was a little frustrated at Sherlock, too." I admitted, placing my hand on his.  
"Would you like to go to the theater with me sometime later this week?" He asked.  
I thought about it for a moment then nodded. "Is Friday okay? I wanted to decorate my apartment today and tomorrow." I explained.  
"Sounds great. Say around seven?" He asked.  
I nodded. "Can't wait," I answered honestly.  
"Well, I'll let you get back to work." John smiled at me and left.  
"I should have seen that coming," I heard someone say behind me. I turned to see Mrs. Hudson. I blushed. "He did seem quite interested in you the other day."  
"Well we went out for dinner last night," I said, dusting off my apron and cleaning the counter.  
"Oh?" Mrs. Hudson said, taking off her own apron. "Well, he's very nice, dear."  
"I'm sure he is. And a good doctor to have gotten into the Army." I commented. I took off my apron as well and switched the open sign to close. My first day working at Speedy's café wasn't too bad after all.

Later that night, I sat on my sofa looking at interior design magazines and sipped some iced tea. I didn't think I'd ever get the hang of British tea. It was weird for me to put milk in tea.  
I decided on decorating my apartment with natural wood furniture I'd look for in secondhand shops, and paint my walls different shades of blue, making my room look like a night sky. There was a knock at my door when I finished writing my ideas down.  
"Hello?" I asked, opening the door. To my utter surprise, Sherlock Holmes was standing outside my door, looking rather irritated.  
"Hello, Amy. I came to say that I'm sorry for interrupting you and John last night." He said bluntly, staring me straight in the eyes: his bright blue ones piercing my dark blue ones.  
"Oh, it's okay, Sherlock." I said, rubbing my hands together to keep them warm: the damp down in my apartment was bothersome at times. I had the feeling Sherlock only came down here to apologize for John's sake; to make sure John wasn't mad at him, that is.  
"Good. Have a good night," He called down as he ascended the stairs, closing the door to 221B will a slam.  
"That man is definitely a mystery." I said to myself and I settled down on the couch again, and opened a good book.  
I was nearing the end of the book when I heard the sound of music from upstairs. "That must be Sherlock playing the violin," I said to myself. I stopped reading to listen to the sound of Beethoven's Symphony number five.  
About a half hour later, the music stopped. I took it upon myself to clap quietly, knowing that Sherlock wouldn't be able to hear me. I decided to go up and visit him to tell him what a great musician he was.  
Climbing up the stairs, I stood cautiously outside the door to 221B. I raised my hand to knock when the front door swung wide open. There was Sherlock Holmes in his pajamas and a long black silk robe with a violin in his hand.  
"Yes?" He asked passively.  
"I…I just wanted to tell you that you play beautifully." I stammered, finding it hard to look him in the eye.  
"Yes, I've been told that." He said, about to close the door in my face.  
"He means 'thank you'." John came into view and opened the door again. "Be nice Sherlock," I heard him murmur to his friend. "Would you like to come in?" He asked politely.  
"Oh, no. That's okay. I was just about to turn in anyway," I said honestly. "I just wanted to let Sherlock know how well he plays, but I guess there was no need to," I added quietly.  
At this point, Sherlock had gone back to the window and resumed playing his violin.  
"He's always like that, but I'm sure he appreciates the compliment," John said. "Are you sure you don't want to come in?"  
"I…um…no, I really should be going to bed." I said. John nodded.  
"I'll see you tomorrow then." He closed the door slowly.  
"Right," I said to myself, descending the stairs. "See you tomorrow."  
While I was getting ready for bed, the sound of Sherlock playing the stringed instrument continued to sound from above. I really didn't mind it; it might help me fall asleep, even.

I woke the next morning to my phone's alarm. I _had_ had a good night's sleep, and I think I owed it to Sherlock's playing. I didn't know whether or not to thank him, seeing as he might brush off the compliment rudely again. I decided to drop a hint to John if he came by to see me at Speedy's.  
I put on a long-sleeved white t-shirt, khakis, and some blue TOM'S. I tried to straighten my hair that morning, but it just wouldn't cooperate. "Well, I'm sure my hair won't be _too_ distracting," I mumbled moodily to myself. I had always hated my untamable frizzy red hair.  
At Speedy's, Mrs. Hudson was already bustling around the café, straightening pictures, replacing salt and pepper shakers, and tidying up the tables.  
"Don't you have a busboy for that sort of thing, Mrs. H?" I asked, concerned about her hip.  
"Oh, it's no bother dear. And between you and me," She dropped her voice to a whisper, "I haven't really got the money for a busboy."  
"Well, hopefully that will change," I said, putting on the red apron and stationing myself behind to counter.  
The first customer of the day was, surprisingly, Sherlock Holmes. He was wearing his long black coat and blue scarf, something I realized he wore a lot. He strode up to the counter, ready to order.  
"I'll have my usual, Lily," He caught sight of me and gave an audible moan. "Oh, that's right, Lily's out with a baby. In that case, Amy, I'll have a large cup of strong black coffee and a bran muffin."  
He got out his wallet, ready to pay.

"That'll be..."  
"Yes, £4, I know," He said impatiently, handing me exact change. I took the bills from him and handed him his receipt.  
"By the way, Sherlock," I said, before he turned to sit down, "I really enjoyed your playing last night. It helped me sleep," I added.  
Sherlock smiled, whether it was genuine or not, I didn't know, but he smiled nonetheless. "Thank you, Amy." He continued to stand instead of sitting and started to talk to me. I suppose he only did so because I appealed to his prideful nature, but I didn't mind doing so; I wanted to get to know him more, anyway.  
"What's it like in America?" He asked while texting on his phone. I couldn't expect him to give me his full attention, apparently.  
"It's nice. Very green and well, patriotic." I fumbled around for words.  
"Oh? London not green enough for you?" He asked, testing me.  
"No, it's just that I haven't been able to go exploring any of the gardens John mentioned to me the other day, and I'd like to."  
Sherlock's face softened into a smile again, "Ah, yes, John. Well he certainly likes _you_."  
I smoothed my hair out nervously, "Does he?" I asked, ready to believe anything Sherlock Holmes said.  
"Yes. And he was quite put out with me for interrupting your 'first kiss', as he put it," Sherlock put air quotes around the phrase.  
"Well, that's water under the bridge," I said, laughing. Mrs. Hudson came out with Sherlock's muffin and I filled a cup with strong black coffee for him  
"Nice to see you out and about today, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said, looking at the man eagerly.  
"Yes, thank you Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said impatiently, still on his phone.  
After Mrs. Hudson left I confronted him. "Don't you ever put that thing down?" I asked, frustrated.  
He looked up from his phone and smiled. "Finally, I get a real reaction out of you," He put his phone away. "Thank you for the coffee and muffin," He took his drink and food sustenance and left.  
"What does he mean 'real reaction'?" I asked myself. I had the whole day to brood over Sherlock's conversation and actions: we had a slow day at Speedy's. Even rush hour wasn't that busy. The only eventful thing that happened was a young man spilling his coffee on the floor.  
At five o'clock, I flipped the 'opened' sign to 'closed'. I had about four hours to shop around for some furniture for my apartment. I had meant to do some the day before, but hadn't gotten around to it.  
"Alright," I said, taking off my apron and hanging it on the hook behind the counter. "Time for some shopping."  
I bade Mrs. Hudson farewell and went to my apartment to bundle up. It was cold today. Well, much colder than I was used to in Texas. I found the door to my apartment unlocked. "That's strange," I said, "I thought I locked it." I paid it no mind, but went right in to get my coat, hat, scarf, and gloves.  
As I put on my things I heard some yelling from upstairs.  
"Sherlock! How could you go in her apartment when it was _locked_?!" I heard John yell.  
Sherlock had been in my apartment? My _locked_ apartment? What was the world coming to? Furious, I put my things on and stomped upstairs.  
I threw the door to 221B wide open. "What," I said, in a deadly calm voice, "Is the meaning of this?" I asked, holding up a scribbled note that read 'Got you'.  
Sherlock turned to me and displayed a smug smile. "I found out," he said simply.  
I was puzzled, "About what? I've got no skeletons in the closet."  
He advanced towards me, "Oh, don't you?" He held up a ring. I looked closer and noticed that it was the engagement ring Brian, a former boyfriend, well, fiancée, had given me.  
"What about it?" I asked innocently. "I didn't marry him. I told John that someone proposed to me. Granted, I didn't tell him that I accepted, or that I left him at the altar. I didn't feel like he needed to know that; we had just met." I tried to snatch the ring from him, but he was a good eight inches taller than me and held it outside my reach.  
"Give it back Sherlock," I said testily.  
"Why keep it?" Sherlock muttered.  
"Because," I said, trying again, unsuccessfully, to get the ring back, "He wouldn't take it back."  
"Gives him the wrong impression though, doesn't it?" John had finally spoken. I turned to look at him.  
"What do you mean?" I asked, swiping at the ring again.  
"I mean, if you don't give him the ring back, he'll think that maybe you still have feelings for him and that you could change your mind." John looked at me wistfully.  
"I don't love him anymore, okay? I…it was a mistake, alright? He wanted to change me to fit the mold his parents wanted him to fill with a wife." I crossed my arms and looked at John. "I'm sorry didn't tell you the whole truth, but I don't see what this has to do with Sherlock." I looked at Sherlock with a hardened gaze, "Are you determined to hate me just because I'm an American?" I asked, getting angrier.  
"No, I'm determined to bring out the back bone in you. From the moment I met you, I realized what a door mat you were. Everything about you, from the clothes you wear, clothes your mother or sister probably bought you and you initially hated, to your posture, slouched but erect when called to attention. I say that there is more to you than meets the eye, but that you're afraid to show it because people won't accept it, which may be true." After saying this, he lowered the ring and gave it back to me.  
"Well, what kind words you have to offer," I said, taking my ring and leaving 221B. I went back to my apartment to put it away and left to get my mind off Sherlock Holmes and shop for furniture.

Four hours and £800 later, I came into my apartment and, with the help of the cab driver, put away the items I had purchased.  
"Thank you very much," I said, handing the man his money.  
"Have a good night, miss," He said, and left the apartment.  
I looked around at my purchases and smiled. It had been a good night. I got a lot of my things for half the original price that the owner had wanted. I _had _always been good at haggling. I had bought a coffee table, chair, and a dresser for my bedroom, rugs, and some wall art. I wasn't _near_ done decorating my apartment, but it was a start.  
I had just finished putting all my things in place when I heard a knock at the door. I really hoped it wasn't John or Sherlock apologizing for earlier. Thing was, if it was Sherlock, I knew he didn't mean it; and if it was John, it wasn't _his_ responsibility to apologize for Sherlock's rudeness.  
I hesitantly opened the door. Mrs. Hudson was standing outside 221C with a saucer and cup of tea in her hands.  
"Hello dear." She said, holding out the cup of tea, "Thought you'd need this. I heard the three of you earlier."  
"Please, come in, Mrs. Hudson." I opened the door for her and she walked into the apartment. "What did you hear?" I asked, sipping on the tea. It was actually _pretty_ good. A little sugary, but good.  
"Oh, not much dear, just raised voices. I'd have come in earlier, but you were out." She looked around the room at the coffee table, chair, rugs, and few pictures on the wall. "The place looks a bit livelier now."  
I nodded, "Thanks. I'm not quite done, though. I still have to paint and get a few more pieces of furniture."  
"You're not staying long, though, are you?" She asked sadly.  
"Not that I know of. I'll be staying here until the third week of March, so three months. But I wanted the place to look nice for the time I _was_ going to be here." I sat down in the new floral chair I bought and slowly continued to sip my tea.  
Mrs. Hudson continued to stand there, wringing her hands together and looking around.  
"Something the matter, Mrs. H?" I asked.  
She sighed and threw her hands up in the air. "Well, Sherlock and John haven't stopped fighting since you moved in. I think Sherlock's a little jealous of you. He and John are such close friends, you know."  
"Oh," I said, putting the tea cup back on its saucer. "Well, I suppose I'll have to make amends, then."  
"Oh, no, dear. Let Sherlock apologize first. He'll come around eventually. You and John have that date tomorrow, though, right?"  
I clapped a hand to my forehead, "Oh, I'd forgotten all about that. Thank you for reminding me, Mrs. Hudson. Yes, I suppose I can't cancel that, not that I wanted to," I added.  
"Of course, of course." Mrs. Hudson said absent mindedly, making her way to the door. "Are you finished with the tea, dear?" She asked, pointing to the cup in my hand. I looked down.  
"Oh, yes, here." I handed her the cup. "Thank you."  
Mrs. Hudson nodded and left my apartment, quietly closing the door behind her.


End file.
